


The Fall of Xin'trae

by Ruusverd



Series: Echoes of the Fall AU [5]
Category: Echoes of the Fall - Adrian Tchaikovsky, Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, And Everything That Goes With That, Bronze Age AU, Gen, it's the fall of cintra, shapeshifter AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:15:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25766578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruusverd/pseuds/Ruusverd
Summary: Less than a day, Geralt estimated. Two years of waiting, and he was too late by less than a day.The Fall of Cintra, Echoes of the Fall AU
Series: Echoes of the Fall AU [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1863010
Comments: 12
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> RIP Calanthe. :(
> 
> Nothing new in the world building I think, except it might be worth mentioning that the dragons in Echoes of the Fall are not the wings-and-fire dragons of the Witcher, they're komodo dragons. The Komodo Islands obviously don't exist in that world, so they're just called dragons.

Geralt, Jaskier, and Plotka approached the still-smouldering ruins of the Xin’trae village with caution. They’d been prepared for the worst, having seen the smoke rising from a distance, but the reality was worse even than they’d feared. The whole village had been slaughtered, and the wooden huts burned. Flies buzzed in the noon sun, and the stench hurt even Geralt’s dull human nose.

The bodies of Lions lay scattered, their tawny pelts smeared with blood. From the signs, it was clear this had been a completely unexpected attack. The warriors had clearly fought to the last in a vain attempt to keep the invaders out. Geralt grimaced when he found Calanthe’s dagger-toothed Champion form near the center of the village, her head bashed in by a heavy blow. She must have been one of the last to fall.

Meticulously Geralt and Jaskier moved through the smoldering ruins of the village, searching among the bodies for Geralt’s promised child. Plotka danced anxiously, eyes rolling, but stayed near Geralt despite her agitation. The only comfort they found was that they found no human bodies. They had all died in their Stepped forms. No ghosts would haunt this place.

Scattered between the bodies of the Lions were a few dead Dragons, the infamous river pirates of the estuary, and one or two Crocodiles. Geralt scowled at the dead reptiles, trying to understand why any of the River Lords would have wiped out a Lion tribe so far beyond their own borders. Emhyr Kasra seemed determined to spread the dominion of Old Crocodile over the whole world, but his actions in the past had focused on subjugation, not eradication. They’d left no soldiers behind to hold the Xin’trae’s land, so this clearly hadn’t been an act of conquest. It must have been the plan of some small faction hoping to win favor with the Kasra.

 _Whichever of the River Lords ordered this_ _would_ _have done better to have hired the Laughing Men,_ Geralt mused, in the small part of his mind that viewed the carnage with cold detachment, _No one would have questioned an attack by the Lion’s most persistent enemy,_ _and would have deepened the animosity between the two_ _._ _This amounts to a declaration of war, and will unite the warring tribes of the Plains against_ _the Kasra_ _._

He cursed himself for having given in to Calanthe’s demands to leave Zireael with her after the girl’s parents died. He cursed himself for thinking that handing the girl a trinket and promising a single visit every two years would be enough to satisfy the Law of Surprise. If Ciri was dead he’d never stop cursing himself. _L_ _ess than a day,_ Geralt estimated. _Two years of waiting, and I’m too late by less than a day._

"Here!" Jaskier exclaimed, peering into one of the burnt out huts that hadn’t fully collapsed,"Oh gods, Geralt, they even killed the children!"

Geralt frantically shouldered his way into the hut and examined each tiny corpse. His heart clenched, looking at the small bodies. The smallest ones were human, too young to Step, while the older were those of half-grown lions.The young lions had blood around their claws, as if even those hardly old enough to Step had fought their deaths. Finally he sat back with a sigh, relief warring with fury and grief in his mind. "She isn't here."

"Are you sure? She might be one of these cubs, if she’s learned to Step..."

"No, she’s only eight years old. Far too young to Step. These are all older."

The Crow looked around, "What do you think happened to her, then? Do you think they took her?"

Geralt shook his head, "This happened too fast and too savagely for them to have planned to take anyone alive. She must have escaped somehow."

"Where would she have gone? Calanthe is dead, and the rest of the Xin'trae pride with her. A young Lioness all alone, she'll be killed whether she encounters wild lions or the Laughing Men or any other tribe of the Plains."

"The Horse Society would be safe," Geralt said, gesturing vaguely in Plotka’s direction. "If Ciri survived, she might have found one of their caravans. They buy unwanted children from any tribe, they wouldn’t refuse an orphan if they found one. It’s somewhere to start at least, if I can’t pick up her tracks. I should be able to find her trail though. By the signs, it’s been less than a day since this happened, she may not have encountered anyone at all yet."

The Crow frowned, "Doesn't the Horse sever the children they buy from their totems and give them Horse souls? What if they’ve already done it to Ciri by the time we find her?"

The Wolf shrugged, angry but resigned, “Then I suppose Plotka will have one of her own people to travel with." He gestured at the destroyed village, "There's certainly nothing left for her with the Lion."

"Could Yennefer fix it, give her back to the Lion? Or the Wolf instead, since she was destined for you? A priestess of the Snake would be able to do that, wouldn’t she?"

“I’m not going to ask Yennefer to make Ciri into what I think she should be. It isn’t right. Not when the Horse does it, not when anyone does it,” Geralt said with a vehemence that surprised even himself. “I’m not going to sever _anything_ from her. If she still has the two souls she should have been born to, she’ll make up her own mind which to cut away when the time comes. If she’s been given a Horse soul and doesn’t like it, then Yennefer can help her find a new one, but it will be _C_ _iri’s_ choice. Not mine, and not Yennefer’s. She will be whatever she wants.”

Jaskier shifted his weight uncertainly, “It’s not like most of us have a choice in what form we wear. We simply Step into the shape of the soul we’re born with, and that’s that. The girl has been yours in the eyes of the gods since before she was born, giving her to the Wolf wouldn’t be much different.”

Geralt snorted. "You know nothing, Crow. I was born with two souls, and I wasn’t given the choice which to cut away. Trust me, it’s different. I won't force her the same way."

Jaskier twitched his head in surprise, staring at Geralt from the painted side of his face, as if searching for the signs of mixed blood he had somehow missed in the years they’d traveled together. “You were born with two souls? You never told me that!”

“You never asked.”

“Why would it occur to me to _ask,_ Geralt? It's not like it's obvious! What was your other parent? A Deer thrall? Boar? Not Boar, you don’t look at all like one of the Boar. You look like all the rest of the Wolf’s people I’ve seen, aside from the coloring and the teeth. And the eyes. Except,” he paused, thinking, “Your eyes, sometimes in strong sunlight the pupils constrict to slits. Wolves don’t have slit pupils, I can’t believe I never thought about that before! What was it, some types of Cat? A Fox?”

“Is my parentage really important right now?” Geralt gave Jaskier an annoyed look and pushed himself to his feet. "It won’t make any difference what shape she’ll Step to if we don’t find her before she gets killed."

Jaskier pursed his lips but nodded, “I’ll circle the area from above, see if I can pick up any signs while you scout for a scent trail.”

Geralt grunted in agreement then Stepped to the white wolf with the dark iron teeth, giving the forlorn bodies in the hut a final glance before turning away, nose to the ground. He’d return if he could, to take care of them properly, but Ciri’s fate was still unknown and the needs of the living had to come before those of the dead. These were only empty husks, after all. Their souls had gone back to the Lion to be reborn, either to another tribe of the Lion or as mute beasts.

Jaskier pushed himself into the air with his human legs and Stepped to the crow’s body in mid-air. He circled the burned village in an ever-widening spiral, looking for any sign of a small child fleeing alone.

Geralt trotted to the outskirts of the village and began to cast about for a scent trail, snorting to clear his nose of the mingled scents of blood and smoke and death. The main body of the invaders had come and gone from the southeast, the dragons having presumably come from the estuaries by way of Chumatla or Tsokawan. The ground was so trampled it was impossible to distinguish any individual’s tracks.

Pausing, he frowned as much as the wolf’s face was able. The tracks of a single man led away from the village through a hole in the wall, heading due south. He sniffed, catching the heavy scent of Crocodile. The footprints staggered, but no blood colored the ground around them. _Carrying a_ _child?_ Geralt wondered, _One that was struggling, causing him to stagger for balance?_ He followed the tracks for a short distance, looking for any other signs.

His eyes caught the glint of metal in the long grass, and he Stepped back to use his human hands to part the grass. His heart lurched as he recognized the tiny iron wolf amulet hanging from a broken leather cord. It was the same one he’d given to Ciri when they’d met two years before. He snarled, squeezing the amulet in his clenched fist and folding it into himself as he Stepped back to the wolf. He threw back his head and howled for Jaskier and Plotka, then set off after the tracks of the lone Crocodile and Ciri.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got long so I'm splitting it into two chapters. I promised myself none of these would turn into chaptered fic. You know, like a liar.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I looked at Geralt spending most of the rest of the series desperately running around trying to find Ciri and thought ‘nah,’ so everything from this point on becomes more of a loose remix than a straightforward rewrite.
> 
> Writing fight scenes is hard. Writing a fight scene between two shapeshifters made my brain hurt. Hopefully it’s less confusing to read than it was to write.

The Crocodile was making no efforts to hide his tracks, obviously not expecting any pursuit. Geralt was able to set a steady, ground-eating pace that he could maintain for long distances if needed without losing the trail. He was confident he could overtake them. They had less than a day’s lead, and a running wolf could outpace a man easily. Particularly a man who was carrying a child.

He saw Jaskier swoop by overhead, climbing ever higher in the air, scouting what lay ahead. Plotka’s hooves beat a steady rhythm against the earth behind him. Briefly he considered asking to ride her in order to increase his speed, but he knew he’d be unable to follow the trail as well without the wolf’s senses. He couldn’t afford to go astray. And it always made him uncomfortable to ask to ride, not knowing how much she still understood.

He’d been running for hours and the sky was growing dark when Jaskier spiraled back down to fly next to Geralt. “CAMP,” The Crow rasped, in the croaking voice that was all he could manage while Stepped, “AHEAD. MAN. CHILD.” Geralt flicked an ear in acknowledgment and Jaskier banked away, climbing higher again.

It wasn’t long before Geralt could see the light of a campfire through the tall grass. He pushed himself and ran faster. He saw a river man crouching over the flames, and a smaller figure hunched several feet away.

Wolf-fashion, Geralt made no sound of warning before barreling into the camp, launching himself straight for the man’s throat. He saw the man’s eyes widen in shock, and the wolf’s jaws snapped closed on the air as the man managed to Step just before Geralt would have struck him. Geralt overshot, spinning around as his paws touched the ground, baring his teeth and giving voice to a snarl now that the element of surprise was gone.

The Crocodile was unusually small for his kind, but still large and heavy compared to either a man or a wolf. Geralt had fought Crocodiles before. He knew despite the reptile’s short limbs and awkward appearance he was wickedly fast and his jaws could easily crush bone, even if his teeth couldn’t cut through the Wolf’s iron.

The Crocodile hissed and backed away, and Geralt threw himself forward, feinting to the side before trying to jump onto his back. His opponent dodged, Stepped to a man, and lashed out with a bronze knife all in one smooth movement. Geralt felt the knife rake down his side, but it scraped over the iron rings of the coat he carried in his hide without leaving any injury.

The man froze, clearly never having fought an Iron Wolf before. Geralt attacked again, and the man countered, the two of them fluidly Stepping from man to beast and back again as they lashed out and dodged away by turns, before breaking apart and staring at each other across the fire.

“Who are you?” the man asked with a thick southern accent, “Why are you attacking me?”

“Why did you and your warband kill the Xin’trae pride?” Geralt countered, “Why did you take the girl?”

“I _saved_ her! I am following orders!”

“Whose orders, Crocodile?”

“I am not a Crocodile! I am a _Caiman!”_ The southerner looked offended, which seemed slightly ridiculous to Geralt given that they’d just been trying to kill each other.

“I don’t care what you call yourself, to my eyes you’re a Crocodile, if rather a small one. Whose orders are you following?”

The man took a breath as if to answer then suddenly leaped over the fire, Stepping in midair to slam into Geralt and drive him to the ground with the weight of the crocodile’s body. Geralt’s head impacted against the ground and he saw stars. He drove his knife into his opponent’s side as hard as he could. The reptile’s scales were tough to pierce and his bronze and leather armor made them even tougher, but he felt the tip of the iron blade bite through to find flesh.

The crocodile roared and Geralt took advantage of his distraction to slide out from under him and scramble away, leaving his knife embedded in the layers of hide and armor. His opponent Stepped to his human shape, yelping with a man’s voice as the change in shape drove Geralt’s knife deeper into his side. He pulled the knife free and brandished it at Geralt, grinning despite the bleeding hole in his flank.

Geralt dove forward as a wolf, trying to catch one of the man’s legs in his jaws. The river man side-stepped Geralt’s lunge and thrust downwards with the knife. Geralt dodged the attack and leaped straight for the man’s face. As he’d predicted, the man Stepped to avoid Geralt’s leap, and Geralt’s knife dropped to the ground, the Crocodile unable to take the iron with him when he Stepped. Geralt Stepped to a man, grabbed the knife, and dropped onto the crocodile’s back, throwing an arm around his neck in a choke hold.

The arm around the crocodile’s neck forced him back to a human shape, and he thumped to the ground on his belly. He thrashed, trying to throw Geralt off but unable to push himself off the ground with Geralt on his back hanging on to his neck. Geralt struck the back of the man’s head with the butt of his knife, causing him to go limp. Geralt let go, watching closely in case he was faking. When the man remained still he backed away, panting slightly.

He looked over at Ciri, who was staring at him with wide eyes and her mouth hanging open. He felt vaguely foolish not wanting to kill a man in front of the girl when she had already seen her entire village murdered, but he simply wiped the blade down and returned it to its sheath. Ciri didn’t need to see any more death, regardless of how useless a consideration it might be at this point.

He went over to Ciri, crouching down and untying her hands where they were bound in front of her. The moment her hands were free she threw both arms around his neck and buried her face against his shoulder. She didn’t cry, but he could feel her small frame shuddering. He put his arms around her and held her close.

Jaskier fluttered down and Stepped, looking exhausted from so many hours of nonstop flight. Without moving Ciri, Geralt held out the rope that had bound her wrists and indicated the unconscious southerner with a tilt of his head. Jaskier nodded wearily, taking the rope and tugging on the man’s arms, tying his hands behind him. “Do you have another rope for his neck?”

“No, but I wouldn’t worry about it. If he gets his hands loose he’ll just untie a halter, and if he tries to Step with his hands still tied behind him he’ll shred both of his shoulders. Crocodile limbs don’t bend that way.”

“Ah, yes, that’s a good point,” Jaskier grimaced.

“Are you all right?” Geralt asked Ciri softly, feeling her arms tighten around him.

She shook her head without lifting it. Geralt felt like smacking himself. Of course she wasn’t.

“Are you injured?” he clarified.

She shook her head again, then mumbled something into his shoulder.

Geralt nudged her gently, “What’s that, Ciri? I couldn’t hear.”

She turned her face so she could speak clearly, “It’s all my fault. That man, he said he was taking me to the Sun River Nation. That the Kasra wanted me brought back to him, and that’s why they attacked and killed everyone.”

Geralt’s blood ran cold. Absently he patted Ciri’s hair and mumbled what he hoped were reassurances, meeting Jaskier’s shocked gaze over her head.

 _The Kasra_ _himself_ _?_ He thought, _What_ _could the ruler of the most powerful nation in the world want with_ _C_ _iri?_ And close on its heels came another thought: _There goes my plan to take her to Yennefer. The Snake temple in Atahlan is within_ _a stone’s throw_ _of the Kasra’s palace._ Now _what am I going to do?_

A wave of loneliness crashed over him, the wolf inside him howling for _pack,_ for a safe place with others of his kind to retreat to. _W_ _olves_ _are_ _n’t meant to be alone,_ he repeated the truism to himself. With a sigh he pushed the empty ache to the back of his mind. After all, Ciri’s loss was fresh, and his was old. Lions weren’t meant to be alone either. Geralt got to his feet, resting Ciri on his hip as she clung to him with both arms and legs. “Come on, Jaskier. We can’t stay here, let’s get moving.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier whined, shoulders slumped with exhaustion, ‘I can’t go another mile. We don’t all have a wolf’s endurance. Even Plotka’s tired. The girl has to be ready to collapse. We have to rest, at least for a few hours.”

Geralt grimaced, noticing with a pang of guilt that Plotka’s head was also drooping. A horse could outrun a wolf in the short term, but they weren’t designed to keep up even moderate speed for so many hours without stopping. “That Crocodile is going to wake up, or his warband is going to come looking for him. We need to go north, put as much distance as we can between us and the Sun River Nation. If we at least get far enough to be out of sight, we can risk stopping for a while.”

Jaskier nodded, accepting the compromise, and kicked dirt over the campfire to put it out. “What are we going to do about the Crocodile?”

Geralt shrugged as much as he could without jostling  C iri. “Leave him. He’ll get loose and survive  or  he won’t  and he’ll die; I don’t really care which. He got  C iri out  of that massacre  alive, so I’ll  spare him this once  to pay the debt.”

J askier  nodded without speaking ,  a sure sign he was ready to drop from exhaustion . He Stepped and flew to perch on Plotka’s croup, huddling into a  miserable heap of feathers.

Geralt started to demand he get off, but shook his head and decided  he had more urgent things to worry about .  I n his  Stepped shape the storyteller wouldn’t be a burden for Plotka to carry  anyway,  and i f she didn’t want him up there she was perfectly capable of bucking him off herself.

He shifted Ciri around to his back where her weight would be more evenly distributed, and the four of them set off together into the darkening night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you can’t actually knock someone unconscious like that and have them stay out that long without causing brain damage, but if every movie ever can use it for convenient nonlethal unconsciousness, I get to use it too.

**Author's Note:**

> This one got long so I'm splitting it into two chapters. I promised myself none of these would turn into chaptered fic. You know, like a liar.


End file.
